


Deliver Hope

by AmaryllisComplex



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gah why is this so sad, Gen, Halo Reach, Original Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaryllisComplex/pseuds/AmaryllisComplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And some part of him had known it would end like this — he had been born for battle, born to die — and some part of him had known it would end like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliver Hope

**Author's Note:**

> (based heavily off of Bungie's trailer for Halo Reach titled 'Deliver Hope'.)  
> Just a quick little something because I just watched the Halo Reach trailer titled Deliver Hope, which pretty much sums up Thom-293's death in a nutshell when he tried to destroy a convenant carrier. Noble 6 replaced him in Reach, but I find it oddly ironic that while Thom died trying to destroy a ship, Noble 6 died protecting one./end nerd ramble. The game sucks, but the trailers are always really good. So...er, this little guy's name is sort of a tribute for Thom. I'm going to go crawl back into my hole of nerdiness now.

CT-3293 was grateful for his bucket. The constant, steady stream of information that scrolled down the inside, and the way it kept his breathing as a muffled sound as he rounded the corner. His comlink beeped and he stifled a curse, throwing his free hand over it and ducking into the cover of a gap between two durasteel walls.

Keying it, CT-3293's eyes narrowed behind his bucket as he hissed, "What?"

"The bombs have been set, sir." The yellow-green light flickered with the trooper's voice, and CT-3293 glanced towards the opening of the gap before answering.

"Good. Get to the ship."

"Yes sir!" The comlink fell silent, and CT-3293 lowered his arm and slid away from his impromptu hiding place. The mission to blow up this forsaken Separatist ship was going smoothly, all bombs placed in their designated areas — all but one. 

Clipped to his belt, CT-3293 ran his fingers over the inactive bomb before nodding to himself and darting down the corner. He kept his pace brisk, grip tight around his blaster. His comlink beeped again, and he keyed it, pulling it up to his arm as he moved down the durasteel hallway. "What is it?"

"Where are you, sir?"

"On my way. Get ready to get out of here." He lowered his arm and rounded the corner, finger squeezing the trigger as his eyes landed upon the small group of clankers. They were B1s — not much to them in both way of strength or intelligence. The sound of blaster fire filled the air, his bright blue bolts against their red ones. 

Several whizzed by his head, too close for comfort. Teeth grinding together, he shifted — and then went sprawling back, blaster falling out of his hand and skittering across the floor, just out of reach. Splayed out on his back, CT-3293 was all too aware of the warmth that seeped underneath his armor, across his chest. The smell was too familiar to be ignored, the pain too real to be faked — he was dying.

He lay there wordlessly, his own ragged breathing played back to him by the bucket. But he couldn't die yet. Not yet. Ignoring the twinge and the flow of warmth across his skin, CT-3293 forced his hand towards his belt, fingers closing around the cold metal of the bomb. 

Pulling it away, CT-3293 brought his arm up, keying the comlink, even as he heard the sound of metal feet against durasteel. "Detonate the bombs."

"Sir, where are you?"

"That doesn't matter. Do as you're told."

"But sir—"

"Did I stutter? Detonate the bombs." Lowering his arm, CT-3293 pressed the button on the bomb. It clicked, and then began a high, rhythmic beeping. A countdown. The sound of feet moved closer.

"Is he dead?"

"I don't know. He looks dead." 

There was a kick to his side, a hollow sound against his plastoid covers. CT-3293 watched them, and his lips curved as there was a muted rumble, the durasteel floor beneath him trembling. His hearing faded, the sounds of panicking clankers and rumblings muting out as he closed his eyes.


End file.
